


Mysterious Ways

by CyanideBreathmint



Category: Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Het, PIV Sex, oblivious adam jensen, obvious mistletoe joke, office Christmas party, reindeer sweater
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 01:06:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17839466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyanideBreathmint/pseuds/CyanideBreathmint
Summary: Aria Argento is getting a bit tired of flirting at Adam Jensen to no effect, and therefore makes one last attempt at getting his attention with a well-placed sprig of mistletoe. In other words: if Jensen wants to kiss the sky, he'd better learn how to kneel.





	Mysterious Ways

The air is cold and crisp on Aria’s nose and cheeks, her breath steaming in fantastic shapes with each exhalation, but it’s still not enough to dispel the pleasant buzz running through her veins. It’s been a good year, she thinks. Made it onto active field duty, held her own, which she’s still fiercely proud of. She’s had two shots of slivovitz, the usual limit for an on-call night, but she lets it show a little more than she normally would, because tonight is a special night, and she wouldn’t need walking home if she were sober. Which she actually was, of course, but there was no real damage in letting Adam Jensen think otherwise. 

Jensen’s right beside her, with that self-sufficient poker-straight posture of his, his hands in his pockets as he walks her to her apartment. It’s not that much out of the way for him, all things considered, since they’re both augs and have to live in the same segregated district. Jensen. The quietest man on earth, and perhaps the least perceptive. Which isn’t doing him justice, really, because Aria knows that beneath those industrial sapphire sunglasses lives a sharp gaze and a quick mind. 

It’s just that he’s been pointedly ignoring her attempts to get to know him better, up until now, in the wake of the office Christmas party. And now Aria wonders how many drinks he’s had, and if he’s only walking her home in a moment of weakness. Probably not. He’s probably got his Sentinel aug turned on, and those cups of eggnog might as well have been quaffed for the sugar and calories in them, as opposed to their effects on the human brain and liver. No, what she’s dealing with is a wilful kind of blindness rather than one born out of pure stupidity. 

Aria knows enough about herself to know that she’s still attractive — she’s gotten enough wolf-whistles to know that men generally liked what they saw, when they saw her, augs or no. And she’s caught Jensen looking at her that way once or twice, though never obviously enough, or for long enough, for it to be boorish or creepy. No. What she’s read in his face is a kind of wistfulness instead, the kind of look one glimpsed in the face of a child staring in the windows of a pastry shop while a parent drags them away by the hand. A look that makes her think of broken dreams, which only fills her with a strange, irrational fury every time she sees it. 

Adam Jensen is not an ugly man. He’s _hot_ , and she’s heard several of her co-workers comment on the exact degree of Jensen’s hotness themselves. There is no reason a man this decent and this polite and this ridiculously good-looking needs to be writing himself off as though he were ruined for all future relationships. In her secret heart of hearts, Aria isn’t sure what she wants more — to confront whoever broke Jensen’s heart and left him convinced he was worthless, or find out how exactly his beard feels on the insides of her thighs. She might have figured out one way to get the latter, even if she doesn’t have enough information to move on the former. 

Aria negotiates a slippery cobblestone with exaggerated care, prompting Jensen to extend his arm to her, and she takes it gratefully, pointedly does not release it until she’s almost at her doorstep. Behind them large globs of slush begin to fall from the sky, splatting themselves wetly against the bones of Prague, to freeze and solidify in the freezing temperatures overnight. 

\---

“Ugh,” Aria says, entering her passcode at her door while Jensen looks politely away, “it’s gotten so nasty outside. Please tell me you’re not going straight back out into this mess.” She didn’t exactly plan for the evening to end this way, but perhaps the celestial heavens are conspiring with her in sending this sleet storm at this exact time. 

“I don’t want to trouble you, Aria,” Jensen says, and he shuffles a little on his booted feet, looks down at her doormat. It’s a little too new-looking even after all the time she’s spent in Prague, but Aria really hasn’t had many visitors. Work is where she lives, most of the time. 

“No trouble at all,” she says, just a little too eagerly, and Jensen freezes up momentarily as she pushes the door open, but he half-smiles almost perfunctorily before stepping into the doorway behind her. Aria wonders briefly if she can shoot the bolt and lock him in the apartment with her before he flees, then realizes he’d probably jump out of a window were the door denied to him. No use spooking him. 

Instead Aria lets him wander in at his own pace. She dumps her coat onto the couch and walks over to her kitchenette and starts a pot of coffee, allows its comforting fragrance to fill the room as it percolates. A tap of a fingertip and the artificial fireplace crackles on. Jensen takes a seat at the dinette table — it’s the least threatening seat in the apartment, and of course he’s arranged himself so his back is to a wall. His posture is far too relaxed for him to be expecting any kind of a threat in here — no, it’s just the kind of habit one develops in a job like his. And hers. Aria sits down opposite him, automatically trusting him to watch her back.

Neither of them speaks as the coffee pot fills, but there’s nothing sharp-edged about that silence. No, it’s the kind of quiet that grows between two people who know each other well enough that they don’t need to say something every few seconds, but not well enough to communicate through that silence, either. It’s the kind of companionship one expects from brothers and sisters in arms, but Aria wants more. She has been wanting more for a long time, and she’s not going to let Jensen go without one last try, one last attempt to break through his self-imposed isolation. 

Aria fixes two mugs of coffee, one with cream, for herself, and the other with cream and two sugars, for Jensen, and she sits at the table holding her mug between her cupped hands while he sips cautiously at his, then takes a slug. 

“Sweet enough for you?” she asks him, and then grins at the shy smile that spreads across his face as he looks down into his mug, his eyeshades retracted for the moment. 

“Yeah,” Jensen says, takes another appreciative sip, “most people underestimate my sweet tooth.” Aria has always been charmed by Jensen’s taste for sweets. There’s something about how simple and uncomplicated his happiness is when he’s allowed to indulge himself. 

“It’s the least I could do,” says Aria after a sip of her own coffee, “you walked me home.” 

“I really don’t think there’s a person in Prague capable of giving you much trouble,” Jensen says ruminatively, after a second or two of silence have passed, “but it’s nice not to even have to think about it, I understand.” 

“It is,” she says, with absolute sincerity. Of course Jensen would understand, which only makes her like and want him more. 

Jensen drains the last of his coffee then, and Aria finds herself watching the movements of his throat as he swallows, then he pushes his chair back to stand. “I should be leaving now,” he says, and she’s standing too, her mug of coffee forgotten on the table as she walks him back out of the kitchenette. 

“I guess,” Aria says, and then she reaches up to his chin with her left hand, her flesh-and-blood hand, and closes her fingers around the sleeve of his rainproof overcoat. 

“Aria, I —” Jensen starts to say, but she silences him, drags him down for a kiss. His beard is soft, well-groomed against the palms of her hands, and his mouth is hot, silk and velvet and sharp hard teeth. He makes a small sound as her mouth touches his, and then it’s a careful play of tongues, his lips cautious and tender against hers as his fingers creep up into her hair, to tilt her face at just the right angle. It’s as though she’s dissolving, her entire being warming like the body-heat down her gullet after a shot of slivovitz, expanding, rising on each sucked-in breath, each exhalation, each tectonic brush of their lips. 

Aria has never been the kind of woman to swoon, but she wants to by the time Jensen lets her go. Her arms are still tucked around his neck, his left arm around her waist, and she watches the distance begin to grow in his face as he tries to extricate himself. 

“I’m sorry,” Jensen says, something like regret entering his face, “I shouldn’t have —” 

“No,” Aria says, pursuing as he retreats, “no. That was good. I promise, I’m not drunk, I just — I might have exaggerated the number of drinks I had, because I didn’t know any other way of getting you to — ” She shrugs, looks briefly downward at his chest, realizes that there is no safe place to put her gaze, not with him this close.

Jensen tips her chin up again, slowly, carefully, and he holds a finger up before her eyes, moving it from one side to the other. She follows his fingertip with her gaze, right to left to right again. “Okay,” he says, cracking a tiny, genuine smile, “you’re really not drunk, not enough to be impaired, anyway.” 

“Good.” Aria grabs Jensen by the collar and drags him down for another kiss, and he doesn’t resist. He opens himself to her, and she nibbles on his lower lip, drags a tiny protest out of him with her teeth before letting go. He’s leaning into her now, his hard body pressed against hers, and she can feel his heart booming in his chest against her own as she leans back against her own front door. It’s been too long for her, too long given over only to work, to rehabilitation, and then to earning her place with TF29 — when has she allowed herself to be human, to have wants and needs and desires?

And then she wonders, before another kiss obliterates her train of thought, _how long has it been for him?_ Jensen kisses like a drowning man, all gasping breath and desperate grip. Aria lets one hand slide up the side of his face, tracing the lines of his jaw, his cheekbone, the edge of his ear, while her other hand slips around his flank to rest against the graceful curve of his lower back. It’s unbelievable, the warmth and solidity of him, and she craves it, shivers as his own hand slides down her waist, and then up her back again. 

Jensen is getting hard, and _fast_ — Aria can feel the frustrated line of his cock against her lower belly, and she grinds herself against him, grins internally at the groan she drags out of his throat. “I don’t know how far,” he says, his breath hot against her ear, “how far you want me to go.” 

“I want you to keep going,” Aria says. She punctuates it with a little nibble at his jawline, her teeth sliding off his neatly-cropped beard, “but maybe not right here in the entryway.” She’s nothing if not prepared, and while she’s not opposed to a hard, desperate fuck right there, right now, it’s probably going to be far more comfortable if they do have sex, to have it take place in her bed. 

Jensen pauses, thoughtfully, and for a moment Aria thinks she’s been too forward, she’s scared him off, but he shivers appreciatively as she presses her body to his, and then slides a thigh between hers, returning the favor so she can grind up against him for once. They kiss again, Aria rocking herself up against him, her breath coming in little eager pants, and then she squeaks in surprise as Jensen half-crouches, one arm sliding under her knees, so he can carry her bodily to her bedroom. She whispers the directions in his ear, kissing and sucking at the skin of his neck, nudging the collar of his sweater down with her chin for better access. 

\---

The comforter on top of the bed blooms up around Aria as Jensen drops her on top of the mattress, and then he’s climbing on top of her, his palms sinking deep into the cloth and batting and foam of her bedding to either side of her face. They’re both still fully dressed, but Aria won’t mind it if Jensen wants to take things slowly. And he does. There’s no desperate fumbling at clothing, no tearing cloth or ripping bodices. Instead there’s just the firm warmth of him against her as they settle themselves side by side, one of Aria’s legs hooked around his hip, her hair sliding out of her updo into tousled disarray as they touch and kiss and learn each other’s responses. 

Each of these tiny moments burns itself into Aria’s memory — the way Jensen’s coat rustles as she rolls him onto his back, each needy thrust of his hips against hers as she settles herself on top of him. The soft sounds he makes against her lips, her skin, the shell of her ear as she lets her hands slide up under the tail of his silly Christmas sweater with the glowing reindeer noses, under the t-shirt beneath it, to explore the raised lines in his scarred skin. And his hands haven’t been idle this whole time, either. They’ve crept under the hem of her blouse to savor the texture of her skin, pausing briefly, curiously at the string she’s got tied around her waist, but she guides him further upwards before he can figure out what exactly the string is there for. All in good time. 

It feels like they’ve been kissing and making out for hours when Jensen squirms under Aria and wriggles out from under her. “Starting to overheat,” he says, and she can only laugh at the look on his face. 

“I’m not the one who’s still wearing their overcoat,” Aria says. Jensen looks down at himself as though he has only just realized how many layers of clothing he’s wearing, and he glances permission at her as he reaches up for the lapels of his overcoat, to shrug the garment off. 

“It’s only going to get more uncomfortable for us if you don’t take _something off_ ,” Aria continues. She props herself up on her right elbow, the one that doesn’t fall asleep or ache from having a good percentage of her body weight resting on it. She can sense Jensen’s reluctance, and she can guess why — it had been hard to look in the mirror after her own surgeries. First the amputation, swelling and bruise, the ugly lines of sutures and staples criss-crossing her flesh, the drainage tubes taped in place, then the augmentation that grafted her new arm to her shoulder. But it’s allowed her to stay on active duty. It’s let her do things that she hadn’t been able to, before. 

Jensen leans back over and plants a quick kiss on her lips, a faint butterfly touch, and then he slides off the bed and drops his overcoat on the floor. He reaches down for the hem of that ridiculous sweater and hauls it off, revealing a damp, sweat-soaked t-shirt, before he sits back down on the bed and takes off his boots. She knows intellectually how far his augmentations go, but it’s still a visual revelation, the way the black and gold of his augs stand out against his pale, translucent skin. 

Jensen pauses once he’s down to his t-shirt and boxers, the fabric ridiculously tented by his erection, and Aria beckons him back to bed. They can keep going slowly, and besides, she’s still dressed, herself. “Come help me with this,” she says, and Jensen doesn’t hesitate, climbing back into bed, his mouth seeking the sensitive skin of her jawline, her neck, as he works at the row of buttons on her blouse, at the hook and eye keeping her nice slacks closed. His touch is hungry and eager, just a bit rough, and Aria digs the fingernails of her left hand into the fabric of his t-shirt, listens to the rumble in his throat as she drags them down his back. 

That low growl breaks into a chuckle, and then an abrupt laugh as Jensen finishes unbuttoning her blouse. Lying to the side of her is a small sprig of mistletoe secured by a string tied around her natural waist, just above her navel. 

“I —” Jensen tries to say through the laughter, but he can’t. Aria finds herself giggling, and then laughing along as he helps her shrug the blouse off, and then silences her with another starving kiss. “Is that a message for me?” he manages to murmur into her ear, breaking into chuckles while he says it, after they part for air. 

“More like a good-luck charm,” Aria confesses. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Adam Jensen. I’ve been flirting at you for months, _months,_ and I know you’re interested, but you just don’t do anything about it, and I — I guess I was at my wit’s end.” 

“I just.” And Jensen stops, the laughter draining out of his face, and Aria feels a brief stab of anxiety, before he speaks again. “I just thought you were being nice. I guess I didn’t think I was all that desirable.” 

“No,” Aria says, indignant, “no, you’re devastatingly good-looking, and I don’t care about the augs, it’d be hypocritical for me to, I —” 

Jensen cuts her off then, his mouth meeting hers for a long time. There’s desire in this kiss, yes, but also a kind of mortal fear, a taste of salt that tells her he’s fighting tears, and a raw open vulnerability. This isn’t just Jensen giving her what she wants, like the earlier kisses. This is all him trying to tell her what he needs. Aria helps him with his t-shirt, rucking the hem up and pulling the garment over his head to bare his scarred chest. He closes his eyes as she rolls him over to tug at his boxers, to bare him before her gaze, and she can feel him trembling under her as she kicks off her shoes and takes off her own slacks. 

“It’s okay,” Aria whispers to him, “it’s okay.” She lets her touch explore his skin, caressing him gently with the tips of her nails and the metal and polymer of her right hand, bends her head to the dark lines of his skeletal reinforcement showing through his translucent skin, and he groans audibly, arches up into her touch and breath, his fingers bunching in the comforter below him. He hisses as she traces the line of his hip, the juncture of metal and skin where his legs meet his torso, and then whimpers when she reaches down to give his hard cock a loose stroke. She uses her right hand for this, delighting in the way he bucks into it, in the way his lips part for breath, his pre-ejaculate slippery on her palm. 

“God, Aria,” Jensen breathes as she’s nibbling at one of his nipples, feeling the nub of flesh shiver hard under her teeth and tongue, and he shudders and groans. And then the world turns itself over as he reaches up to grasp her by the shoulder, rolls her gently onto her back. Carefully, deliberately, Jensen tugs on the mistletoe on its string loop, adjusts it so it’s resting right over her lower belly, straightens it. 

“May I,” he asks Aria, his fingertips curling under the elastic of her panties, and she nods, raises her hips so it’s easier for him to tug them off. She’s soaking wet under them, almost uncomfortably so, and the cool air of her bedroom is almost too cold against the heated, sensitive flesh of her vulva. She fights a shiver as Jensen kneels at the foot of her bed, and then scoots down on the mattress to grant him better access. He props one of her thighs up on his shoulder as she spreads the other, and then he leans in. 

Jensen’s beard tickles Aria’s inner thighs, and she squirms in response as he settles himself, and then his exhalation is warming her back up, the wet tip of his tongue tracing the soft folds of her labia as he begins to taste her, to eat her out. He’s good, and for a moment Aria wonders who to thank for his expertise in cunnilingus. He teases her slowly at first, giving her time to anticipate what’s to come, and she bucks into each of his little laps, closes her left hand in his hair as she shivers and moans under his ministrations. 

The pointed tip of his tongue plays up against the sensitive bud of her clitoris in clever, maddening ways, first experimentally, and then harder, more insistent once he finds out what makes her shudder and moan. Aria wants more, thrusting herself up against his mouth, but the soft velvety friction of his tongue is never enough, and she pulls hard at his hair, tries to steer him to her satisfaction. In response he rubs his jaw against her inner thigh, the tickle of his beard expanding to a hot burn, and the sensation is overwhelming, drives her right up to the edge without tipping her over. 

Aria comes only when Jensen pauses to slide two fingers into her. She opens wetly, easily under his touch, and then he’s curling his fingers upwards, using the whole length of his tongue on her clit, lapping at her with a low growl as his head bobs between her thighs. She clenches down on his fingers, tensing up against the resistance of steel and titanium, silicone and graphene and exotic polymers stretching her open, and a sunburst of heat and pleasure fills her pussy, radiates outwards through her entire body as she shakes, crying out loud as she throws her head backwards. 

Jensen doesn’t stop there, however. He continues, relentless, as Aria mews at the sensations filling her body, and she comes again, her vision blurring out to white. She’s still bucking up against his mouth, and then she wails as he begins to suckle at her, using his lips, sliding his fingers further into her, and her world just disintegrates under his touch. He finds a deep secret spot in her, one that aches to be rubbed, and draws slow circles over it. In response she grinds her clit up against his clever mouth as aftershocks of pleasure continue to ripple through her to reduce her vision to static. 

Aria manages to push Jensen’s head away after that, and he kisses her slowly as she catches her breath, tracing his way back up her hard belly, to the soft spot beneath her sternum. She’s still wearing her sweat-soaked bra, and she rolls over for him, lets him unclasp it and tug it off. He’s a little wild-eyed after his own exertions, trembling with need, and she indicates the nightstand drawer for him, that’s where she keeps the condoms. 

Jensen enters her with a long groan of relief, his sheathed cock sliding up against the wet folds of her vulva, parting them to push, in one smooth, aching thrust, deep into the heat of her cunt. “I don’t know how long I’m going to last like this,” he manages to whisper into her ear as she wraps her legs around his waist, one foot locking around an ankle, “it’s been a while.” 

“It’s okay, Adam,” Aria replies, bites off a little sound of delight as Jensen drives himself up into her, “it’s okay. Let me take care of you now.” She’s so fucked-out at this point that she doesn’t care if he comes in two pumps, but he doesn’t. Instead he fucks her fast and hard, relentless, his eyes tightly shut as he pants desperate, filthy words into her ear. 

“You’re so good in me,” she murmurs in reply to his moaned, incoherent praise, “so deep, so —” He thrusts up and up into her, up, and she shivers as he hits that spot again, deep inside her, almost hard enough to hurt. But it’s a good hurt, a deep, sweet ache, and then he’s trembling, grinding himself home in her as he pants out each spasm of his climax. 

“Aria,” he manages to gasp against the skin of her neck, and she runs her fingers down his back, through his hair as he shivers with the aftermath of his orgasm, his body taut and tense and so very still. His eyes remain closed afterwards as he slides easily out of her, his head resting against her chest as he catches his breath. There’s a rattle, of hail hitting the windowpane as the weather worsens outside. 

Aria lets out a long, slow breath, one that she’s been holding for a very long time. It’s as though she’s floating on top of a warm sea, as the endorphins thrum and sing in her bloodstream, and she holds Jensen to her breast as though he were her only safe harbor, her sole ship to shore. “You’re not going back out in this weather,” she tells him for the second time. 

This time, he nods wearily, and shifts, rolling off her to curl up on top of the comforter, hisses as he tugs the used condom off and knots it off. “No,” he agrees. 

“Stay,” Aria tells him, “stay the night.” 

And he does.


End file.
